2025-04-09 14:54:27Just then, Nolan stepped into La Bella Noire.
He paused for a moment at the entrance, scanning the elegant rooftop like a man on a mission. His sharp brown eyes moved from table to table, slowly… carefully… as if searching for someone important. He was searching for his wife. At the far end, Hilda spotted him first. She smirked and whispered under her breath, “Well, well... the average Joe is here.” The other women turned quickly. Even Evelyn. And for the first time in her life… she felt ashamed of him. She wished she didn’t know him. She wished he would turn around and disappear. But he didn’t. Nolan’s eyes found her. And almost immediately, his face lit up with a soft smile. Without hesitation, he started walking toward their table. “Oh, the average Joe is coming,” Freda said mockingly, lifting her glass. “Everyone be on your guard.” The women laughed quietly—but then, like a strange magic passed over them, they all adjusted their posture. Their backs straightened. Their faces tightened. No more giggles. No more ease. It was like they all put on invisible armor. Nolan reached the table and gave a polite smile. “Good evening, ladies,” he said gently. “Evening,” Hilda replied, her voice was cold and flat, her eyes not even meeting his. “Welcome,” Freda added with a fake grin. “The great Nolan himself.” Clarissa only raised a brow and sipped her champagne. Nolan ignored the tone. He turned to Evelyn. “Hey, babe.” He leaned in, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and kissed her softly on the cheek. Evelyn flinched just a little. It was small… but the others noticed. Still, Nolan smiled. “Can we go outside?” he asked. “I have something for you.” Evelyn turned to look at him fully now. Her voice came out sharper than she intended. “How did you find me here?” “Come on, Evelyn,” Nolan said with a soft smile. “You’ll love the surprise I have for you.” Evelyn turned to him sharply, her eyes were burning. “Nolan, why are you here?” she snapped. “You weren’t invited. I’m out with my friends, and you’re ruining it!” Her voice was loud. Loud enough that several people at nearby tables turned to look. A few heads tilted in curiosity. A few others whispered. Nolan felt a chill run down his spine. His skin tightened. Goosebumps crawled across his arms. Embarrassment. Big, heavy embarrassment. But still… he didn’t flinch. He stood his ground. “Well… it seems you’re still mad,” he said quietly. “But I understand that. However…” He paused, then brought his fingers to his lips—and whistled. Loud and sharp. Immediately, the doors of La Bella Noire opened once again. And in came a jazz band—fully dressed in traditional French outfits. Berets. Red scarves. White shirts. Black trousers. They walked in with smooth steps, instruments in hand. Without delay, they began to play a soft, romantic tune. The melody floated like sweet perfume. Then, the dancers came in—male and female ballet performers in flowing costumes. They twirled and moved gracefully. The male dancer kept reaching out for the female dancer… kneeling… stretching his hand… showing how sorry he was. The female dancer, at first, turned her back… but slowly, beautifully, she began to respond to his moves. Her eyes softened. She danced toward him. They touched hands. The performance was so touching that the entire restaurant went quiet. Phones came out. Customers began to record the scene, with smiles all over their faces. A few ladies placed their hands on their chest. “Awwww…” “This is so sweet…” Then, another man stepped forward. He was dressed neatly in a black tuxedo. In his hands was a cake—beautifully decorated with pink and white cream. He walked to Nolan and handed him the cake. On the cake, the words were written clearly: PLEASE FORGIVE ME Nolan turned to Evelyn again. “I know what I said two days ago at your Apex Ascendency Gala was out of place,” he began slowly. “And I know I went too far. I said things I should never have said. Things that hurt you.” He held the cake gently, his eyes were calm. “You are a smart… strong… beautiful woman. You’re everything I’ve ever needed in a woman. And yes… maybe emotions made you do some things too. But I forgive you for those… and I ask that you forgive me too.” His voice was sincere. His eyes didn’t blink. Evelyn sat still. Her mouth was slightly open. Her heartbeat faster than before. She looked around. Many of the female customers—especially those in their forties and fifties—were wiping small tears from their eyes. “So cute…” one of them said. “If my husband did this, I would forgive him in one second…” Another said. Evelyn looked at the cake. Then at the dancers. Then at Nolan. Then slowly… she turned to her friends. Her eyes asked the question silently: Should I forgive him?
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TUNNELS OF BLOOD
The tunnels breathed like the belly of some buried beast.Steel rails gleamed faintly in the half-light, oil dripping like tears from the pipes above. Each echo stretched too long, each drop too loud, as if the earth itself conspired to betray them.Nolan’s boots struck quietly on the tracks.Over his shoulder, Alex sagged like a dying flame, his head lolling, his breaths shallow. The Phantom King’s mask dripped with blood not his own, its black crown painted in crimson streaks. In these depths, he was not a man. He was an omen.Alex stirred, his voice was nothing more than air.“...Thorne… chains… window…”Nolan’s jaw tightened. The boy’s eyes fluttered open, pupils wide, unfocused. But there was something wrong — they dilated at every flicker of stress, like a trigger waiting to be pulled. Nolan pressed two fingers to his wrist-rig. The scans confirmed his fear.A kill switch.“They wired you,” Nolan muttered under his breath. “They turned your mind into their bomb.”Alex groaned, t
BLOOD CROWN
Nolan stayed silent, circling through the machines.Four men advanced. Their boots thudded softly against the floor.The fight erupted in a storm of suppressed fire. Bullets hissed like wasps, ripping through old cloth and wood. Nolan fired back, two down in seconds. His magazine clicked empty.Now it was steel and bone.A pipe whistled toward his head. He ducked, crowbar smashing ribs, the sound cracking like kindling. Another lunged with a knife, slashing his shoulder. Nolan twisted, caught the man’s wrist, and drove the blade into his thigh before crushing his skull against iron.Hands grabbed him, tried to strangle him with wire. He slammed the crowbar backward, breaking teeth, then rammed his attacker’s head into the loom. Blood spattered the gears.By the time the dust settled, only two bodies still twitched. The rest lay broken, silent in pools of blood.Nolan’s chest heaved. His mask dripped crimson.And still, the handler had not moved.At last, the man stepped forward. His v
THE WAREHOUSE PRISON
Three Days LaterThe Phantom King vanished into the fog of Bullwick, his silhouette was swallowed by the night.In the days that followed, whispers spread like wildfire. Of the alley massacre. Of men painted into crowns of blood. Of a masked figure who killed like a ghost conductor.Lena Petrova received fragments of coded transmissions, each leading closer to DominionLink’s warehouses. Mael Vox drank himself deeper into fear, waiting for the Syndicate’s revenge.Rust-colored fog hung low over the canals, swallowing the old industrial quarter in a suffocating haze. Dead factories leaned against each other like drunkards, their windows black with soot, their roofs sagging with rust. The Phantom King walked among them as if through a graveyard, mask reflecting faint pulses of light from the small scanner in his hand.Each pulse matched the rhythm of a faint RF signal — the one he had hunted for three days. Each flicker was a heartbeat guiding him closer.And then it appeared.The wareh
VIRELLA'S WRATH IN THE MARBLE WALLS
Chapter 162: Virella’s Wrath in Marble HallsThe mansion sat on the cliffside like a crown of glass and marble, its white facades gleaming faintly under the wash of moonlight. Below, the ocean churned restlessly, waves striking against black stone as though trying to claw their way up to the fortress above. Within, all was silence and wealth—corridors lined with statues looted from fallen empires, chandeliers dripping with crystal light, walls hung with canvases worth more than most men’s lives.And at the heart of it all sat Virella.She reclined in a velvet armchair of blood-red, one long leg crossed over the other, her hand cradling a delicate crystal glass filled with a dark Burgundy vintage.The light from her massive curved television flickered across her sharp features, giving her an almost spectral glow. Onscreen, a playlet unfolded—an avant-garde performance from a secretive troupe she patronized. Masked actors twisted and bowed across a minimalist stage, their dialogue ci
THE PHANTOM KING'S DANCE OF SHADOWS
The glow of the code still lingered on Nolan’s mask when he stood at the doorway, pistol heavy in his hand, crowbar strapped across his back. Beyond the steel frame, footsteps echoed in the damp alley — steady, deliberate, the rhythm of trained killers closing in. Six, maybe seven. Possibly syndicate scouts.The Phantom King tilted his head, listening to their cadence like a conductor listening to the first stirrings of an orchestra. They thought themselves hunters, but they had already stepped onto his stage.The room behind him was silent except for the hum of his system, the unfinished Orchestra Key still pulsing in its rhythm. The glow of shifting code spilled faintly across the walls like ghostly graffiti, marking this place as more than a hideout. It was a crucible — and tonight it would be baptized in blood.The syndicate weren't tired of tracking him down, and he was not tired of killing them.He exhaled once, a slow measured breath. Then he killed the lights.Nolan moved lik
ORCHESTRA OF SHADOWS — THE GHOST ALGORITHM
The blood still clung to Nolan’s sleeves, but his mind was already elsewhere. The docks were silent, yet the binary words burned on his screen like a brand. With that message that said, "We are listening." He knew the fight had only shifted battlegrounds. Steel was finished. Now, the war moved into code.The room was silent except for the hum of machines. Rows of screens glowed with shifting light, casting Nolan’s mask in ghostly reflection. His fingers moved quickly, striking the keyboard like drumbeats. Every line of code he wrote was a blade, every command a strike against an unseen enemy.The docks were behind him now, but their echoes had not faded. Blood on steel, fog on skin, the sharp memory of Mael Vox’s blade tearing through flesh. Yet Nolan knew the Syndicate’s war was not only fought in alleys and container yards. There was another battlefield, one far colder, one made of numbers and shadows.Steel broke bones. But code—code broke empires.He leaned back for a moment, let
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